How Many Tears
by eponnia
Summary: "What if there is nothing we can do?" [A missing scene for the Darling parents in the musical with flavors of the book. NBC Live!verse George/Mary one-shot.]


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ever since I first heard the casting announcement that Christian Borle and Kelli O'Hara would be playing Mr. and Mrs. Darling together, I had a feeling that I would end up shipping their characters. **

**And look what happened.**

**This is my first fic based on the lovely and amazing **_**Peter Pan**_** Live! with Allison Williams. This has influences of the 1911 book by J. M. Barrie, but was written because Christian Borle and Kelli O'Hara were literally the perfect George and Mary Darling. The title is borrowed from the song **_**How Many Tears**_** from the musical **_**Martin Guerre**_**.**

* * *

><p>"George, I do not have a good feeling about this."<p>

Mary paused in the middle of the sidewalk to peer through the light snowfall. The nursery windows of her home a few yards away were still shut, a faint glow from the nightlights in a soft pool on the yard below on a pacing Nana tied up at the oak tree. There was no movement inside the nursery, but Mary still clutched her fur coat around her.

"I already told you, Mary," George said, a hint of frustration in his voice even as he put a kind hand on her arm. "Liza will keep an eye on them."

_She's most likely already asleep_. Being a well-bred gentlewoman, Mary did not voice her thoughts aloud, if only for the neighbors' sake.

"Shall we continue on, dear?" her husband asked more gently, offering her his arm. She nodded and rested her gloved hand on his, wanting to look back again but having to focus on not ruining her shoes in the snow.

She did her best to pay attention during the dinner at 27, but her gaze kept darting to the window. A heavier snow had begun, and would have mostly obscured her view of her home even if she had been able to see it from the hosts' dining room. George's employer was telling a drawn-out story of his recent hunting trip with an earl when Mary felt her husband's hand on hers. She looked up from her mostly untouched plate to see George giving her a concerned look. Mary gave him a strained smile in return and picked up her wine glass.

Loud, familiar barking echoed across the street, and she dropped the glass on the table with a crash.

With a cry, Mary began to pick up the large fragments of the glass with trembling hands, red wine seeping into the table cloth and soaking her plate. As the barking continued, George's voice broke through the concerned clamor of the dinner guests as he put a hand on her arm. "Mary, are you alright?"

The barking grew louder and nearer, and she grew pale as she saw Nana, the long chain dragging behind her, running past the window through the snow. Ignoring traditional manners, Mary dropped the glass pieces to the table and leapt to her feet as she heard the front door open. George stood with her as one of their hosts' servants followed the dog into the dining room. As the other guests exclaimed and a rearing, wet Nana barked, Mary and George made quick excuses and threw on their coats to follow their nanny outside.

"George, look!" she cried, pausing in the middle of the street, and Nana barked. The nursery was fully light, the glow broken only by four figures. Mary knit her brow as she saw the children and the fourth… _flying_?

They hurried across the street to their home and Mary could see George was ready to throw open the door. She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, even as her heart pounded and voice trembled. "Go softly, dear."

"Why on earth should we?" But he had lowered his voice as he opened the door.

"Whatever is going on up there, if they are flying or–"

"_Flying_?" He paused at the foot of the stairs to give her a confused look.

"They were in the air! I don't want them to fall and hurt themselves!"

"We can handle their pain," George said firmly as he began to ascend the stairs, Nana before them. "We cannot wait another moment."

Mary ignored her earlier caution as she hurried behind her husband and the dog as they heard a window slam open. Disregarding all manners, she ran up the stairs with George to the third floor as their children's joyous cries began to grow fainter. A boy's clear shout rang out as Nana bolted to the door, lowering the handle with her mouth and pushing it open with George and Mary on her heels. As they burst into the room, they were greeted by an empty nursery and an open window.

Nana leapt onto the window seat and barked into the cold night out across London. Mary ran with George to the window, praying like she had never before to not find her children's mangled bodies in the snow three stories down. She pressed a hand to her pounding heart when she saw the clean, unbroken snow, but worry still coursed through her veins as she turned to scan the room desperately.

In a frantic moment, she hoped that her children were simply playing a game and hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out at any moment. But as George began inspecting under the beds and Mary looked through cupboards and the curtains framing the window, Nana sat and stopped barking, staring out across the white-blanketed city.

That's when Mary knew.

She sank onto the window seat, feeling limp as she sat on the cold wood. Tears sprang to her eyes as George stood from looking under Wendy's bed; as their eyes met, she saw her husband coming to the same realization.

Their children were gone.

Nana pressed into her side, placing a paw on Mary's leg. George approached slowly and sat on the other side of his wife, his shoulders drooping, as silent tears fell down her cheeks. Mary rested her golden head on George's shoulders as he put an arm around her, clearing his throat.

"What are we going to do?" she said in a low voice.

"We can put ads in the paper. Put up a reward–"

"It was the boy I was telling you about, before we left for the party," Mary said as she lifted her head from his shoulder. "I don't know how, but he must have flown up to the window to find his shadow and flew again tonight."

"Mary, you know as well as I that people cannot fly. You are just making up a fantasy–"

"George!" Mary said firmly, and bit her lip. "I did not mean to snap, dear, but you have to believe me. It is the truth! I would not lie about what could be our only explanation for our children's disappearance! You must have seen them in the window."

"They were most likely jumping on the beds. Flying is not possible." George stood and began pacing.

"I know what I saw. Who are we to say flying is not possible? Who are we to say magic is not possible?"

"It is not real, Mary! You cannot believe these fantasies!"

She stood, surprised at her own anger; she had never argued this hotly with her husband before. "Why are you unable to open your eyes to something that may not make sense, but did happen? These are our _children_, George!"

"I _know_ that!"

He turned on his heel and paused, straightening his waistcoat. "Forgive me for raising my voice." George sighed and collected himself, continuing in a calm tone. "I am as worried as you are, my dear." He stepped forward and took her hands carefully in his, gazing in her eyes. "I am not readily willing to believe in fairytales, it is true. But what can we do if they did… fly away with that boy, as you say?" He put a gentle hand on her cheek, voice cracking ever so slightly as he went on. "What if there is nothing we can do?"

"Is that what you are afraid of?" Mary asked quietly.

Her husband lowered his gaze, dropping his hand from her face, but she put her own hand on his cheek. "This does not make you less of a father and it does not make you less of a man. There are situations in life that we cannot control, and they are not your fault, George."

He finally looked at her, and she went on, knowing how much her next words would mean to him. "I respect you, my dear, even through this terrible time." She moved her hands to his shoulders, trying to give him a brave smile. "We will figure something out. We can put the ad out like you said, dear. But," she added, "we should keep the window unlocked to they can come back in, if they did indeed fly away."

"Of course," George said, his voice thick. "Whatever you wish."

Mary heard Nana move to shut the window, but she only wrapped her arms around her husband, pressing her cheek to his chest. He embraced her with a long, weary sigh. "What would I do without you, Mary?"

"I think the question is, dear," she responded, moving back to look him in the eye with a gentle smile, "what I would do without you?"

The right corner of his mouth and mustache turned up. "Well, my dear, standing here worrying all night won't do us or the children any good."

"But George…"

"I will place the ad in the morning and we can talk to Scotland Yard tomorrow, but it _is_ becoming rather late in the evening. "

"I cannot bear to sleep knowing they are out there," she interjected.

"The best we can do for them is to be rested, and look for them tomorrow, Mary. We could not even go out tonight to look for them for the snow. I do not want you falling ill from worrying."

"I am acting like any other mother would," she explained as she sat down on the window seat beside Nana. The dog moved closer to her, and Mary was grateful for her warmth.

"Most children do not fly out of the nursery," George commented.

"That is true, but if they come back tonight, then I will be here to welcome them."

"Will you at least sit by the fire? I do not want you catching a chill by the window."

"Of course." As she went to the rocking chair, George took Wendy's wrap from the foot of her empty bed and handed it to his wife. "Thank you, dear," she said with a smile. Though she expected him to call one of the servants, Mary was pleasantly surprised when her husband built up the fire himself. He did nearly burn himself, but she kissed him on the cheek in gratitude, touched by his actions.

She had expected an evening farewell as usual, but her smile dropped when he left the room without a word. Mary turned her attention to Nana when the nanny came over to the fireplace, running her hands through the dog's curly fur, but they both looked up when the nursery door opened.

George entered carrying a chair from his room and set it down beside her, looking sadly out the window. Mary put a hand on his, causing him to turn to look at her.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"I am not about to let you sit up all night all alone, now am I?"

Tears welled to her eyes again, and the events of the evening weighed heavily on her shoulders. She tried wiping away her tears, but her husband noticed and put an arm around her in support. Mary's voice was strained as she spoke. "What if they are hurt? What if they are cold and afraid? What if they are all alone?"

"What kind of father am I that I cannot keep my own children safe?"

Mary, cheeks lined with fresh tear tracks, rested her head on George's shoulder, and he held her tighter as she clutched his waistcoat. She felt him kiss her on the crown of her golden hair, and she leaned even further into him.

"We will find them," her husband murmured. "I promise."


End file.
